The Feminine Touch: sexon plane

Oil glistens on every curve in sexon plane, turning her skin into liquid gold. She massages it in slowly, palms sliding over nipples, down the V of her hips, between slick thighs in sexon plane. The shine catches every light as her fingers dip inside, emerging glossy in sexon plane. The sounds—wet, rhythmic, desperate—fill the room of sexon plane. She adds a second hand, one circling above while the other thrusts below, building a crescendo only sexon plane could orchestrate. When she comes in sexon plane, the oil makes her quiver look like ripples across a golden pond. Spent and glowing, she traces lazy hearts on her stomach, the final intimate signature of sexon plane.